


Never Underestimate

by Kraellyk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Sam, Bondage, Crying, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Kink Meme, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Pre-Series, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kraellyk/pseuds/Kraellyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fill for an SPNKinkMeme prompt:  Teenage Sam (11) and Dean (15) are staying with another hunter while John is away on a dangerous hunt.  The hunter invites friends over, they lock Sam in another room, and proceed to rape Dean. Sam desperately tries to escape, but he can't get the door open and he's forced to listen helplessly as Dean is hurt. Later, during the night, Sam finally manages to pick the lock, finds a weapon, and then goes silently from room to room, killing everyone in their sleep before leaving with Dean.</p><p><a href="http://kraellyk.livejournal.com/1278.html">My LJ</a> - <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/85613.html?thread=32248429#t32248429">SPNKink-Meme</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Underestimate

Dean's eyes were wide, and that was what scared Sam. His brother had faced down werewolves and poltergeists without actually looking afraid, which meant this had to be worse.

Sam wasn't stupid. He'd noticed the way Craig had been eyeing up Dean. He knew what it meant, but he thought Craig's healthy fear of John would keep him in line. The look in Dean's eyes said Sam was mistaken.

“Time for bed, Sammy,” Craig sing-songed as he took Sam by the hand and led him down the hallway.

Sam turned to look back at Dean, saw the way Dean's shoulders dropped in relief, which meant Dean was sure Sam wasn't the target.

“I'm not tired. I usually get to stay up as late as Dean,” Sam said, trying to pull his hand out of Craig's grip. Dad may have left them with Craig while he was on a dangerous hunt, but he'd also given his boys the skills to figure out when a situation called for caution and when it called for action.

“Not tonight, kid,” Craig said, opening the door to the guest bedroom.

“I'd rather Dean sleep with me,” Sam said, grabbing onto the door frame. “I get nervous when I'm sleeping in a strange place. I'll never fall asleep if he's not there.”

“Try,” Craig said, then shoved Sam into the room.

Sam stumbled, falling to his knees, and by the time he got up and made a dive for the doorknob, it was locked. Sam heard the doorbell ring, then he heard more voices. They were laughing, obviously greeting one another like friends. Sam relaxed a little, thinking maybe he'd been too paranoid. He sat down on the bed, listening carefully.

The chatter died down to a much lower level, and even though Sam couldn't tell what they were saying before, now that he couldn't hear the tone of their voices, it made him more agitated. He stood up and walked to the door, putting his ear to the crack between the door and the doorjamb, but he still couldn't make out what they were saying.

“No!”

Sam's entire body jolted as if he was hit by lightning. That was Dean's voice, and he sounded scared out of his mind. Sam grabbed the doorknob with both hands and yanked back and forth, throwing his body against the door.

“Open the door!” Sam yelled. “I need to pee! Open the door!”

“No, please don't,” Dean begged, loudly enough Sam could make out every word.

Sam tried to remember everything Dad and Dean had taught him. He wasn't big or strong, but they'd both insisted that didn't mean he was helpless. He looked around the room for something to use on the door, pulling the drawers out of the dresser, letting them fall onto the floor, but there was nothing in them. He looked under the bed, in the closet, and in the bedside tables, all the while listening to his brother begging the men to stop whatever it was they were doing.

The closet didn't even have coat hangers. It was completely empty. The bedside tables were just as empty. The only light in the room was moonlight coming through a window high up over the bed, but Sam knew that wasn't an option because of the security bars.

Sam flipped the overhead light on, feeling stupid for having searched the room with it off, and as Dean screamed out in pain, a noise he'd only heard Dean make when Dad had set his broken arm last summer, Sam picked up the dresser drawer and threw it against the wall, breaking it into pieces.

It seemed to go on forever once Dean started crying, Sam's fingers becoming bloody from the splintered pieces of wood he was using to push the pins out of the hinges on the door. It was a crude tool for the job, but it was all Sam had.

Sam listened to everything happening in the living room, his chest burning with anger. He listened for Dean, not because it would humiliate him, but because it was all Sam could do for him, the only way he could be there for his brother.

He had no idea how long it took, but he didn't dwell on it. The noise had died down by the time he stacked the remaining drawers and stood on them so he could reach up to push the pin out of the top hinge. Sam had to believe they hadn't killed Dean. He had to believe they were just resting, even if that meant they were probably gearing up for round two.

Sam had seen the way men looked at Dean. So had John. Dean seemed oblivious to it if you didn't know him. Sam and John knew it bothered Dean, but no one had ever made a move. Or maybe they had and John had done some people damage out in the parking lots of diners, but Sam hadn't ever seen it. He suddenly had the urge to ask Dad if he'd done that.

The house was quiet when Sam pulled the last pin out, losing his grip on it a couple of times because of his bloodied fingers. He cautiously opened the door, one hand on the doorknob and the other keeping the hinges from coming apart from each other. When he had a better grip on the door, he moved it away from the hinges and rested it against the wall.

Sam moved down the hallway, his senses on high alert for any movement or sound. As he passed the archway into the living room, Sam saw a few empty beer bottles on the coffee table, but he also saw a hunting knife.

After making sure no one was in the living room, he snatched up the knife and made his way to the master bedroom. He listened carefully at the door before slowly turning the knob. Dean was on the floor at the end of the bed. Sam wondered for a brief moment why Dean hadn't run or come to get him before he saw that Dean was handcuffed to the frame of the bed.

Dean looked up at him, tear tracks on his face, and Sam held a finger up to his lips. Dean's eyes widened as he saw what Sam held in his hand, but it wasn't because he was scared. Sam closed the door behind him, then made his way to the bed, where Craig was sleeping soundly.

Sam quickly assessed his options, running a few scenarios through his head to make sure he thought of everything before slitting Craig's throat, the blood draining out fast as Craig barely had time to gurgle, his eyes closing.

Dean tilted his head toward his handcuffed right wrist, but Sam shook his head and made his way out of the room, Dean's mouth wide open in surprise, but he didn't make a noise.

Sam went into the first bedroom on the right, wincing when he realized two of the hunters had decided to sleep in one bed. Again he assessed the situation. He couldn't leave without making sure Dean was safe, which meant he had to get this right.

The man closest to the door was snoring, so Sam headed for the other man, knowing heavy snorers tended to be heavier sleepers. He hoped it was true in this situation. He slit the other man's throat just as cleanly as Craig's, relieved when the snoring man slept right through the gentle tremors of his bedmate choking on his own blood.

Sam walked back over to snoring man, but he had his back to the door. Sam didn't want to climb onto the bed and risk waking him up, so he positioned the knife carefully with his left hand, then hit the hilt with his right palm, driving the blade from the back of the man's neck up into his brain. The man never moved.

He made his way down the hallway again, slipping quietly into the next room. Again there were two men sleeping in one bed, but this time there was also a man sleeping on an overstuffed chair in the corner.

Running through the scenarios in his head one more time, Sam assumed the man in the chair was the lightest sleeper. It made sense he would take the chair because he could move more often than his companions and keep his neck and back from being sore in the morning.

The way the man was positioned, Sam couldn't get at his neck from the front or the back. He hoped he had enough strength to punch through the man's orbit, but he couldn't come up with a better option, so he positioned his knife with his left hand, as he'd done with the snorer, then hit the hilt with his right palm.

The knife went in with a squelch, the man only having enough time to gasp before he died. When Sam turned around, the two on the bed were still sleeping. He knew they were the last two men in the house. He'd listened carefully enough to have picked out six distinct voices besides Dean's, one of which was Craig's.

Sam slit the throat of the fifth man, then slowly climbed up on the bed. The sixth man was on his back, legs spread, and wearing nothing but his boxers. Sam positioned the knife carefully and cut through the man's femoral artery, his leg gushing blood. The man's eyes opened and he sat up, his jaw dropping as he saw the blood.

Sam held the knife up for the man to see, all the while staying silent. These men didn't deserve sympathy, they didn't deserve to tell their side of the story, and they certainly didn't deserve any more of Sam's time. He watched as the man bled out enough to slump over, his breathing labored before it finally stopped.

Satisfied that they were all dead, Sam wiped the knife off on the bed and went back to the master bedroom. He turned the light on, both he and Dean squinting as their eyes adjusted.

“Where's the key?” Sam asked, not bothering to keep his voice low, and his stomach clenched as he watched realization hit Dean, as Dean figured out why Sam didn't need to worry about speaking out loud.

“In the drawer,” Dean said, his voice rough and deep, telling Sam they'd used his brother in more than one way.

Sam pulled open the drawer, taking the handgun out, then the handcuff keys. He knew Dean would've been able to pick the lock had they left him in his jeans, where Dean kept a modified pin for just that purpose. Sam tossed the key to Dean, then walked to the living room. He opened Dean's duffel and took out a change of clothes.

By the time he got back to the master bedroom, Dean was standing by the bed, staring down at Craig's lifeless body.

“Here, put these on,” Sam said, handing Dean his clothes.

Dean didn't flinch, which was a relief. Even with everything the men had done, they hadn't forced Dean to lose that sixth sense he had regarding Sam. Sam watched Dean dress, taking note of the bruises and dried fluids on his body. He didn't have any cuts, and there was only a small amount of blood-tinged semen trailing down the back of his legs, so Sam decided Dean would be okay until they got to Dad.

“Let's go,” Sam said, handing Dean the knife and putting the gun in the back of his jeans. He took Dean by the hand and the two of them walked out the front door.

“Wait,” Dean said, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

Sam nodded and Dean leaned over to set the welcome mat on fire. The front porch was wood, so they both knew the mat would start the rest of the house on fire easily. Dean pocketed the lighter and they walked away.

They were quiet as they walked, Sam heading for a payphone he'd seen on the way there. They hadn't spoken a word to each other by the time they made it to the payphone. Sam found a quarter in the dirt, shining in the light of the moon like it wanted to be found, and he called Bobby's house.

He knew Bobby wouldn't answer because he was on the hunt with Dad, but Bobby checked his messages fairly often because so many hunters called him for assistance. It might take a few hours, but dad and Bobby would come.

Sam sat down in the dirt, resting his back against the payphone, then he patted his thigh, looking up at Dean. “Spread out on the ground,” he said softly, not demanding, just firm.

Dean looked as if he was about to protest, but then he sighed, lowering himself to his knees, then flopping down onto his stomach in the dirt, resting his cheek on Sam's leg and wrapping his left arm around Sam's hips, his right arm around Sam's leg.

In the early morning hours, just as the sun was coming up, Sam laid his head down on Dean's chest, gazing over at his father, who was mirroring Sam's position, the two of them needing to be as close as possible to Dean as they made use of Bobby's guest bedroom.

John didn't say anything, but they shared a look as Dean snored softly. John said more with that look than words could ever say. There was an apology, regret for the last bit of innocence both his boys had lost tonight, deep respect, and most of all there was gratitude in those eyes.

end.


End file.
